


Lying Eyes

by dreamsofspike



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-09-15
Updated: 2010-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:20:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Post Season 2 "Anne" never happened and Buffy stayed in LA...until she hears that things aren't going well at home...there's a new Big Bad running Sunnydale...with a certain blonde vampire at her side..Buffy goes home to fight this new enemy...but which side is Spike really on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: violence, dub-con/non-con

Sheer, utter exhaustion.

That was all that she felt as she made her way very slowly down the deserted, dimly lit city sidewalk, toward her tiny apartment a couple of blocks away – once again disgusted with herself for her failure to ever learn to drive – one of many failures, she sighed. And the reason why she was *walking* back to the apartment from her long shift waiting tables. Most girls would have been afraid to walk home alone down the streets of L.A.

She was not like most girls.

 _That shiny little card with a really unflattering pic of me on it would come in really handy right about now,_ she thought. _Well…if I actually had something to drive._

All she wanted was to get to her apartment and collapse into her bed. Maybe if she was feeling _really_ ambitious, take a shower first. With every step she felt more certain that the shower would be put off until the morning.

 _Shouldn’t have volunteered to work that double,_ she reminded herself wearily. Her hand went unconsciously to her pocket, closing around her meager earnings for the evening. $47.52 for sixteen hours of grueling labor. It hardly seemed worth it.

But then, nothing in her life these days seemed worth the sacrifices she had made.

There were times when the whole world didn’t seem worth the sacrifice she had made.

And with that thought, she remembered why she had volunteered to work so many extra hours. She hated working at the diner. She hated the smell of stale grease and fried foods and cigarette smoke.

She despised the disgusting, lecherous overweight middle-aged men who frequented it and called her “Baby” and “Sweetheart” and “Doll” affectionately as if they actually knew her, and then checked out her backside the moment they thought she wasn’t looking. She hated not doing or saying anything about it when she knew that she could, just because she had decided it was best to keep a “low profile”.

She hated the long, hard hours of difficult, fast-paced work for what little she made in tips. The diner was busy, and hectic, and rushed…and left her no time to think. And that was the single reason why she stayed, why she asked for extra hours until her back and feet and head ached and she was too exhausted to think of anything but sleep.

Thinking…well, it was not so much of the good anymore. She knew too well that if she stopped to rest, even briefly, if she gave her mind time to reflect on all she had done, all she had left behind…then, then her past would catch up with her.

She was half a block from her apartment when she felt it. A familiar feeling that she tried to block out these days – that sense that _something_ was there, in the shadows – following her. She knew it wasn’t her imagination or her fears running away with her mind.

She wasn’t afraid.

She knew that whatever was lurking in the darkness should be afraid of _her_. She could take on anything or anyone that came against her, and destroy it before it could touch her – of that she was certain.

 _You’re good at destruction_ , she reminded herself, fighting back bitter tears at the memory that somehow crept its way into her consciousness in spite of herself. _You destroyed the only one you ever loved. Couldn’t do it when he hated you, when he was trying to kill you…but when he loved you, when he trusted you? That’s when you killed him! Because you’re_ so strong _that you’ll do anything you have to do to save the world!_

She shuddered with a feeling of self-disgust. Should she be proud of herself for what she had done, that had kept the world spinning, everything going on as it always had? Should she be proud that she had sacrificed the only person she’d ever loved to save that world?

She felt sick. She didn’t even want to think about it, and shook her head so emphatically at no one but herself that anyone who saw her would have probably thought she was drunk or on something. But she didn’t want to think about the past, the past she had come here to escape.

She wasn’t what she had once been. She was trying her hand at being a normal girl.

Well…a normal girl who had killed her boyfriend to save the world and run away from home, leaving all that was familiar behind her forever.

 _Let’s face it,_ she thought ruefully. _I’m just no good at ‘normal’.  
_  
When the tingly feeling at the back of her neck was suddenly accompanied by the sound of soft footsteps a few dozen yards behind her, she stopped in her tracks, not turning. Whatever it was, it was refusing to be ignored. She glanced around the street. Deserted.

She shrugged slightly, and then turned slowly, taking her time, not wanting to give the false impression of fear. Because she was really and truly not afraid. She was sure that she could defeat any monster that tried to attack her.

And if she couldn’t…well, the truth was, at the moment she really didn’t care much which way it turned out.

She saw no sign of anything behind her. Of course, her dramatic little stop and slow turn had given whatever it was ample time to hide itself.

“Okay. I know you’re there,” she said in a tired, bored tone. “And you really, _really_ don’t wanna mess with me. I don’t care who or what you are, I can take you. I am tired and dirty and sore and totally in the mood to beat the crap out of something. So either get out of here and leave me alone or get out here and let’s get this over with.”

She waited for a few moments. Absolutely nothing. Whatever had been stalking her had obviously thought better of it and taken off. She found herself oddly disappointed by the fact that she would not have the opportunity to kick the crap out of something as she turned around…

And opportunity knocked for a second time.

She jumped in spite of herself in surprise…and then shock, as she recognized the person who stood just behind her, smirking at her reaction of fear.

“Nice speech, love,” he drawled. “Very intimidating. Sure it works very well on small children.”

Her anger at the realization that he had been standing right behind her during her little speech, silently mocking her by his mere presence, and waiting to frighten her when she turned, momentarily overwhelmed the shock of seeing him, after all this time.

Then, her mind was overwhelmed with painful memories that she had shut away, released again by the sight of the familiar face in front of her. That night, almost a year ago, when they had joined forces against her lover-turned-enemy to save the world.

Fresh anger came over her as she remembered how in the end, he had left her to the battle and run off with his skanky nutcase girlfriend, leaving her to fight Angelus alone. She was not so deep in denial as to blame him for Angel’s death. She knew that either way, he would have had to die.

But maybe – maybe if Spike had stayed around long enough to help her…She felt tears well up in her eyes at the memories that assailed her, and fought them back, focusing on the rage building in her as she met his startlingly blue eyes with her own steely emerald gaze.

Maybe if he had helped her…she would have at least had to kill _Angelus_ …and not Angel.

“Oh, good,” she said in a mockingly pleasant voice with a too-wide smile. “And I thought I was going to miss out on that ass-kicking after all.”

“Oh, no, pet,” he smirked right back at her. “If an ass-kicking’s what you’re after, then by all means I’ll bloody well give it to you.” His smile faded a little and his eyes hardened as he reminded her in a softer voice, “Our little truce is long gone, love. Ancient history. Nothing between me and you now but good old-fashioned hatred.”

The smile slowly fell back into place as he allowed his true face to show and added in an almost jovial tone, his voice lower and thicker with the physical changes in his face, “As it should be.”

“You got a death wish or something, Spike?” she asked him, preparing herself for the fight that he obviously wanted as badly as she did. “Coming *looking* for me after you ran out on our deal like you did?” The anger behind the question fueled her as she lunged toward him, her fist swinging to strike.

“Hello?” he sneered, disbelief clear in his expression, as he stepped back and easily dodged the blow. “What did you expect, love? I’m a bloody *vampire*! You had to know I was just gonna grab Dru and run!” He ducked quickly under her next blow and aimed one of his own at her jaw.

His aim was true, and she staggered backward under the force of the blow, tasting her blood in her mouth. She wiped her mouth hastily with the back of her hand, trying to gather her wits about her. She was obviously more exhausted and sore than she had realized…and a little out of practice. It began to dawn on her that if she was not careful this encounter could claim her life.

Somehow, the thought didn’t bother her.

“You’re right, Spike,” she informed him. “I never expected you to really help me at all.” She gave a little half-shrug as she advanced cautiously on him again. “I just thought I’d have to hunt you down to stake you. Didn’t figure on you coming around _begging_ for it!”

His golden eyes flashed anger and he lunged for her. She side-stepped his attack and grabbed him as he passed her, slamming him into the nearest wall with all the strength she could muster.

Obviously it wasn’t much, because he was back on his feet and ready for more in seconds. “Funny, that, Slayer,” he said, his tone light. “Doesn’t look much like you’re into hunting _anything_ down lately. Seems like you’re more in a duck-and-cover kind of frame of mind!”

Fury overcame her at his words which were painfully close to home. “Shut up, Spike!” she snarled, striking out at him with her fists, indiscriminate blows falling on his face, shoulders, chest, as she backed him toward the wall again. “You don’t know anything about me! You couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like to watch someone you love die because of _you_! To have everything you know…everything you…” Her voice broke off with pain, and she paused before going on. “How dare you even…”

But that was as far as she got. She saw the menace and hatred in his eyes the moment before he lunged for her, slamming her down against the concrete, hard, before she could react. She struggled against the hard hands that held her there as he straddled her stomach, pinning her to the ground, and realized as her efforts proved futile just how terribly out of form she really was. He had obviously been toying with her the whole time, allowing her to believe that she was giving him a good fight – but now, he held her effortlessly to the ground beneath him, and she couldn’t seem to break his grip no matter how hard she tried.

Barely restrained fury in his flashing eyes, he leaned down close to her face and said in a low, menacing voice, “You don’t know _me_ , either, Slayer. You’ve no bloody idea what I can understand and what I can’t. At least I’ll still _fight_ for me and mine, pet. Look at you,” he sneered in disgust, releasing her arms but not getting up.

She didn’t try to move, too stung by the truth of his words to react for a moment as he went on. “Just lying down to die. Like there was nothing worth living for for you anymore.” He shrugged as he stood up, and she struggled to her feet, facing him warily as she tried to get her breath. “But I guess there really _isn’t_ anything for you, anymore, is there? Your almighty soul-boy is gone to hell…your family and friends, well…” He paused, laughing softly.

Buffy’s eyes, downcast during his little speech, shot up to his, a new fire in them at his words. Doing her best to conceal the dread she felt, she advanced on him a few steps. “What about my family? My friends?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “What are you talking about?” She paused, her tearful green eyes boring into his. “What do you know?” she asked, her voice low and intense.

He just shook his head at her, with a sort of sad smile. “Nothing you can do anything about. Seems you’ve been replaced already, Slayer,” he smirked. He frowned, puzzled for a moment. “Thought they could only do that when the last Slayer died. Hmm…” His features slowly shifted back to his human guise, as if to show her how little he actually feared her, that he did not need his extra vampire strength or fangs to defend himself against her. His piercing blue eyes met hers with a challenge in them as he added softly, “Guess you just might qualify, love.”

She glared at him, even more furious because she could find no words to counter his claim…she hated to admit that he was right, at least in part. At barely eighteen, she had given up on life.

But of more concern to her right now was what he was telling her about Sunnydale. “Not me,” she informed him scornfully. “Kendra. A new Slayer’s been called to replace Kendra? And she’s in Sunnydale?”

“ _Someone’s_ gotta run that place, keep the Hellmouth in line, yeah?” he smiled at her, an odd light in his eyes. “Course…that leaves a little room for interpretation…the Slayer’s own…personal way of doing things.” He shrugged. “Either way…don’t really see as how Sunnydale needs _you_ around mucking up the works.” He gave her a derisive up-and-down look. “Seems to me you wouldn’t tip the scale either direction, as it is.”

“What are you saying?” she demanded impatiently, tiring of his too-accurate assessments of her current condition, which were painfully similar to her own view of herself at the moment. “Could you just _try_ to make sense for a change?”

“I am making sense, love,” he said, further insulting her power by deliberately turning his back and walking away from her. “Seems to me you’re the one who’s confused?”

And as he slowly walked away, she was too stunned and worried by his cryptic words to even think of going after him.

Not that she could have really done anything if she had. She never carried even so much as a single stake with her anymore these days. She realized suddenly with a shock that he could have very easily killed her several times during the unexpected little encounter. He had had the best of her several times, and when he had her pinned to the ground, it would have been a simple matter to go in for the kill right then and drain her dry where she lay, helpless beneath him.

And her…the Slayer…with not even so much as a stake in her pocket for defense! Maybe he was right, she thought, her heart heavy and her mind racing as she hurried the rest of the way toward her apartment. Maybe she had really not even _wanted_ to survive the encounter.

But in the space of a few moments, everything had changed, subtlely, but quite clearly. His mysterious comments about her friends and family and this new Slayer with her own way of handling the Hellmouth had her more than a little worried about her loved ones back home.

She knew as she ran up the stairs and into her apartment, dragging the single duffel bag she had brought with her from home off of the top shelf in her closet, that she could not stay here if there was even the slightest chance that they were in danger. As much as she hated to admit it, the encounter with Spike had scared her…badly.

It had scared her to life.


	2. Chapter 2

Nervousness was quickly approaching terror as the little redhead made her way quickly down the sidewalk, toward the house. It was quickly growing dark; she had not meant to be gone this long. She had made the routine trip to the grocery store to get supplies for the household for the coming week, only to find the store packed, the lines much longer than she had expected as dozens of people waited impatiently, in a hurry to get home before the sun set.

People were finally catching on to the key to survival in the town -- you had to beat the darkness home.

So it was that when she finally left the store, the sun was already setting in the distance. She had at best fifteen minutes to walk the quarter mile or so back to the house before the vampires came out in full force -- and she had two very heavy sacks of groceries to carry.

As the last faint rays of light disappeared over the horizon, the house finally came into view. She desperately tried to quicken her pace, slowed down by the weight of the bags she carried. Just as she reached the walkway up to the porch, a dark shadow fell across her, stepping into her path, and she dropped the bags, fearfully trying to prepare to defend herself.

"Well, what have we here?" the vampire in front of her sneered. He was big, with dark greasy hair and dressed in an old Aerosmith t-shirt and tattered jeans. "Aren't you out a little late, little girl?"

Glancing around, seeing no one nearby to help her, realizing that he had just cut off her path to the warm safety of the house, the redhead let out a little whimper of dismay. "J-just a _little_ late," she pointed out with a grimace, her voice coming out as a pleading little squeak.

"Late enough," the vampire laughed, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her closer to him. She struggled, but he was far too strong, and she could not break his hold as he lowered his fangs to her throat.

 _This is it_ , she realized with rising panic. _After all this time, it's really over. I am really going to...  
_  
The thought was not even completed before the bruising grip on her arms vanished in a cloud of dust, revealing the anxious face of her best friend, hastily replacing his stake in his back pocket, where the vampire had stood only moments before.

"You okay, Will?" Xander asked her urgently, moving forward to take her arms in much the same way the vampire had done -- but with much different intent.

Trembling with the shock and terror of what had just happened, Willow nodded hurriedly.

"Come on, let's get inside," Xander urged her gently, giving her a light push toward the open door, glancing warily around as he leaned down to pick up the forgotten groceries. He followed her quickly up the walk, asking, "Just the one this time?"

"Yeah. I don't think there were any more," she said, beginning to get control of her emotions again.

"There will be," he said ominously, pulling the door firmly shut behind them as they entered the safety of the house, where whatever lurked out there in the darkness was not welcome, and therefore could not follow.

"What happened?" a small, frightened voice asked them from the bottom of the stairs.

"It's okay, Dawnie," Willow quickly told her, as they turned to face Buffy's little sister, staring at them with wide, serious eyes. Willow's own fears were forgotten in an instant as she hurried to reassure the shaken twelve-year-old. Dawn had lost far too much in the past year, and was constantly afraid that something else was going to happen to once again shatter her fragile world.

It had all started when Buffy had left. Her sister had taken it very hard, as had her mother and -- well, everyone, really. And they had not known it at the time, but Buffy's disappearance was the beginning of the end.

The next to go was Giles. Only a few weeks after his Slayer vanished into thin air, the Watcher's Council had arranged for his deportment back to England. He had of course wanted to stay; Buffy had not been the only one he watched over for a very long time. But there was no option, no choice in the matter. What the Council wanted, they made happen. Period.

That first change had been hard on the Scoobies, but not so difficult for Dawn, who hadn't even known the Watcher.

Then the Slayer that had been called to replace Kendra had shown up in a blaze of glory, during one of the hectic disasters that were the Scoobies' feeble attempts to patrol in Buffy's absence. She had leapt into the fray and with a frenzied blur of black leather and a couple of expertly wielded stakes, easily dispatched the gang of vampires that had surrounded them.

At first, Faith had seemed like the answer to their prayers. She had immediately gotten right down to business with the slayage, making short work of several large vampire nests that had sprung up when word got out that Buffy had left town. But gradually, her attitude and demeanor seemed to change, and Buffy's friends began to notice aspects of her personality that were quite disturbing.

Faith seemed to enjoy the thrill of her supernatural power just a little too much.

Still, they were just so grateful to have someone there to help protect them and the rest of Sunnydale that they did not realize how dangerous she was becoming.

Until she stopped slaying the vampires and started recruiting them instead, allowing them to do as they pleased as long as they did what she said.

Until she started using her power to take what she wanted, whenever she wanted, beginning her own little reign of terror over the entire town.

Until it was too late.

Now, Sunnydale was not safe for anyone anymore, unless they were in line with Faith and her desires. Innocent citizens were forced to keep to their homes after dark to avoid the vampires in her service that freely roamed the streets at night in packs -- often led by Faith's right-hand man, so to speak -- a familiar enemy who had returned to Sunnydale shortly after Buffy had left, and had somehow managed to get into the good graces of the new Slayer.

Spike.

Besides Faith, it was Spike that they held most responsible for so many of the losses they had faced since Buffy had left.

The first had been Cordelia.

She had been late coming home one night and was set upon by one of Faith’s gangs. Her lifeless, violated body had been found the next morning, left heedlessly lying in the street for anyone to see; they had not even bothered to try to hide it. They wanted it to be found – a powerful message to Sunnydale’s citizens of just who was in control now.

Xander had been beside himself, heart-broken with grief – and blinded by rage. After a brief little planning session between him and Oz, they two had decided to storm the old house on the edge of town where Faith had set up headquarters.

Oz was angrier than Xander had ever seen him, he somehow noticed through the haze of the pain he was in. He could see in the older boy’s eyes that he was thinking of how he would have felt if it had been Willow and not Cordelia, slain without mercy for no crime at all.

It was the night of the full moon.

Xander had taken with him a few weapons he had “liberated” from the army supply with the rocket launcher the year before – weapons he had procured with Cordy’s help, he remembered with tears streaking his face as he loaded and prepared them. He had never take a human life, but he intended to that night. Faith was going to pay.

They had blasted their way into the mansion, just before sunset, shooting indiscriminately at the vampire gangsters that guarded the doors. They had used the element of surprise and sheer force fueled by rage to make it through the huge house to where Faith and her second-in-command were deep in discussion.

Confusion had taken control when Oz had changed, becoming the wolf and falling upon the nearest object of his rage – Spike. He had put up a terrific fight, while Xander went after Faith, showering a rain of bullets on her vampire minions who tried to protect her. It didn’t kill them, but it did put them temporarily out of commission long enough for him to whip out a stake and finish them off, one after another. In the wild melee, Xander simply saw red, and was as wild a creature as Oz, releasing a violent fury in the wake of which only he, Faith, and Spike were left standing.

Oz was dead, still in his wolf form on the floor. The vampire had snapped his neck.

His rage temporarily sated, Xander had realized that he did not stand a chance against the Slayer and the vampire master he now faced. In his fear combined with the shock that his friend was actually dead, he had fled the mansion, not daring to look to see if he was being pursued. Just outside, he tripped over a fallen figure, bleeding from a bullet wound in the chest.

A still, silent… _warm_ figure.

 _Warm!_ Xander realized with a painful jolt that not all of Faith’s henchmen were vampires – and he had taken this one’s life! Panicked as much by that fact as by the threat of his own death, he had stumbled to his feet and run desperately back to the house.

Willow had met him at the door, a terrible fear in her eyes, made worse to his eyes by the fact that he knew he had to confirm what she feared to be true. He was shaking violently, gasping for breath and trying to calm the terrified thoughts that circled around and around in his head.

 _Oz is dead…Oz is dead! I killed a man. Oz is dead! Oh, my_ God, _I killed someone!  
_  
Overwhelmed, unable to bring himself to tell her the truth under the awful burden of facing it himself, he broke down in deep, painful sobs that racked his body. Automatically she put her arms around him, her eyes widening in shock as her mind took in the details her heart would not let it process. The blood that stained Xander’s clothing, the stricken look of devastation in his eyes – and worst of all, the unexplained absence of the man she loved.

They had both fallen to pieces in that moment, on the floor just across the line of safety into the house, with the door still open revealing their pain to anyone who might happen by. They clung to each other, each mourning their own terrible loss as well as that of the other, unbelievable devastation in the space of a single day in which each of them had lost their first love.

Dawn had taken it hard, too, when they had finally told her. Oz and Cordelia had both been around enough for her to grow comfortable with them and feel a certain bond, though she really barely knew Oz, and thought that she despised Cordelia – until she found out that she was dead.

The little girl had gone to her room and locked herself in, not coming out for hours, not answering her mother’s attempts to enter and comfort her. But Joyce told them later that she had been able to hear her soft, frightened sobs though the closed door, and knew that she was wondering what piece of her ravaged world would be snatched away next. Just when it seemed that they had nothing left to lose…

They found out the hard way that they did.

A few evenings later, Xander got a phone call from a very frightened Dawn, calling from a pay phone outside her school. It was already after six o’clock, and the sun would be setting soon – and Joyce had not shown up to pick up her youngest daughter.

Xander had rushed to pick up Dawn and had taken her home, going in with her to see if Joyce was there and okay. If he had been thinking beyond the simple worry that consumed him at the behavior that was very unlike Joyce of leaving Dawn at school, he would have thought to check the house before allowing Dawn to go in. For the rest of his life, he would regret that careless mistake.

Because Joyce was indeed there.

And she was not okay.

The horrific sight of her mangled, brutalized body lying on the living room sofa in a mockery of rest would haunt Xander to his grave. He could not even imagine the devastation that it wrought in little Dawn.

She had absolutely lost it. Before he could stop her she had fallen on top of her mother’s cold, lifeless body, pulling her against her chest and screaming, sobbing for her. She begged her to be okay, not to leave her, trying desperately to rouse her though it was obvious from her open, lifeless eyes and the massive amount of blood surrounding her that she was already gone. By the time he could gather his wits enough to drag her away from the body as gently as he could, she was soaked in her mother’s blood, and half out of her mind with shock and grief.

Near Joyce’s body was a note, reading simply, “If you mess with us again, the kid will be next.”

Thankfully, Xander, not Dawn, found the note, which marked the incident clearly as retaliation for the minor damage he and Oz had done to Faith’s ranks a few nights before. A furious but impotent rage filled Xander, for he knew who had done this, but knew that to do anything about it would be to risk Dawn’s life. The deep puncture wounds on Joyce’s throat confirmed his assumption that it had been a vampire that had done this.

Only one vampire currently had an invitation to the Summers’ home – the vampire that Buffy had foolishly invited in before she had left, and that they had neglected to uninvite, for some reason, not even really remembering that Buffy had invited him until now, when it was too late.

Spike.

Then and there, Xander decided that he would wait for his chance. Prepare. Watch. And one day, he would get the opportunity he craved.

And Spike would die, slowly and in agony, and begging for the death that Xander would gladly grant him.

After Joyce’s death, the remaining Scoobies, Willow and Xander, had moved into the Summers’ house with Dawn, because she was alone now and her father could not be reached, and also because they felt that they would be safer together than separated.

It was unspoken but understood between them that the wisest thing to do at that point was to just lay low for a while, not to draw any unwanted attention from Faith and her thugs. They stayed in after dark, and kept to themselves, and took care of Dawn, who now had no one left in the world but them.

And the evil that Faith allowed, embraced even, ran rampant over Sunnydale. The police were a thing of the past. What use were guns and bullets against an army of vampires? Anyone with any sense had fled Sunnydale at the first inkling of what was going on. But there were enough brave or foolish souls remaining to keep the little town functioning – barely – under the façade of living that filled the days, to make up for the sounds of screaming and terror that they tried to ignore at night.

And though it also went unspoken, Willow and Xander knew why they were among them – why they didn’t just take Dawn and get as far from this nightmare as they possibly could. They held a secret hope between them, though they knew it grew less likely with each passing day that denied it.

They secretly, desperately hoped, that someday Buffy would return.


	3. Chapter 3

The Slayer leaned back in her chair, her fingers interlocked behind her head as she smiled to herself, looking around in satisfaction at her spacious, luxurious bedroom, only a tiny part of the huge, amazing house she now lived in.

After spending most of her life existing with next to nothing as far as material possessions, this was a _very_ pleasant change! She had quite the little set up here, she congratulated herself as she thought of how well she had put her own personal philosophy into action over the past few months.

 _Want…take…have._

It was simple, really. As the Slayer, she had almost limitless power. If she wanted something, there was no one who could tell her it could not be hers, and actually back the words up with actions. Why should she do anything but exactly what she wanted to do? Her watcher had warned her.

Blah, blah blah, responsibility…blah, blah, blah, consequences…blah, blah, blah…

Bye-bye, Watcher.

No one was going to tell her what to do – especially not some British stuffed shirt with no sense of fun.

Why should she change anything she was doing, when she had all she wanted right here simply _because_ of what she was doing? Anything in this town that she wanted was hers. People respected her…feared her. She had dozens of loyal minions who did her bidding without question, no matter what. That kind of loyalty was hard to find.

Well, except at the point of a stake.

It hadn’t taken Sunnydale’s rather large vampire population very long to realize that going along with whatever Faith wanted was their best option. This Slayer, in the opinion of most, was even scarier than the last, because she didn’t seem to play by any particular rules, and had a mean sadistic streak that found an outlet whenever one of them crossed her. Defiance was generally considered to be out of the question.

As for the idea of killing her, which would have probably occurred to any vampire at some point or another…that idea was driven from any foolish mind that might have held such a notion by the realization that a Slayer who allowed them to have a basically free reign over the town was infinitely better than whoever her successor would be. With Buffy no where to be found, they soon saw that it was in their best interest for this Slayer to be alive as long as possible.

 _Yeah_ , she thought, rising from her chair and pacing idly across the room toward her bed. _This town is mine!  
_  
She heard the door open, and turned to face it, a slow, sexy smile on her dark red lips. _Among other things_ , she mentally added as she unapologetically gave the vampire who had just entered an appreciative up-and-down look.

“Hey, hottie,” she flirted. “How’d it go?”

He approached her without returning her smile, without responding to her flirtations. He appeared to be in an extremely foul mood. “Not well,” he replied shortly, biting off the words with barely controlled anger in his voice.

It stunned him how quickly her mood seemed to change when she heard his response. When he had entered the room, she had seemed to be fairly content and in a positive frame of mind. The instant that she found out that she heard his answer to her question, however, her smile faded with the unusually good mood.

Faith frowned, anger and disappointment clear in her dark eyes and the slight pout that rose to her lips. “She’s still alive?” she said in irritated disbelief. He did not respond. “Why?” she demanded, and he could hear something dangerous creep into her tone.

 _Careful_ , he warned himself, well aware that dealing with Faith was always a perilous matter, but never more so than when telling her something she did not want to hear.

“Yes,” he said quietly, making sure that his own voice expressed his annoyance and anger at his own “failure”. “She’s alive.”

She waited, but he did not offer any further explanation. “So what happened, oh mighty Slayer of Slayers?” she demanded, her voice taunting, her hand resting on one swinging hip as she took a few casual steps toward him. “It was your idea to kill her in the first place! She too tough for you?”

God, how he hated her!

“As a matter of fact, yeah!” he snapped. “Seems our former Little Miss Sunnydale’s been training. Working out her slaying skills on a tougher breed of vamp on the mean city streets.”

“So what happened?” Faith pressed, and he could see the deep-seated anger that was ever-present in her as it rose to reveal itself in her eyes. She was still moving toward him.

He cautiously noted the diminishing distance between them, and her darkening mood, but he was weary of bending to her whims and moods and was in no state of mind to take anything from her at the moment.

Except maybe her life. He wouldn’t have minded taking that.

“We fought. I lost. End of story, pet,” he sighed impatiently. The fewer false details he had to come up with for her, the better. “It _was_ my idea, wasn’t it?” he reminded her, unable to keep a slight edge from his voice, despite the fact that he knew better than to deliberately push her. “Don’t see how it much matters to you, then.”

She was facing him, only a couple of feet between them by now, and she stood there for a moment, a slow smirk coming across her face as she dropped her gaze as if giving in. Suddenly, she took his arm and shoved him, hard, back against the wall, her body pressed against his, her head lowered and dark eyes glittering up at him as she spoke in a voice of amusement, but mingled with hints of both menace and seduction.

“I’d be careful, Baby. You just lost a fight with a Slayer and lived to tell about it. You might not wanna start another one. You just might be due some bad luck, so you probably don’t wanna try yours!” The anger and lust in her dark eyes belied her light tone.

He could see the dangerous gleam in her eyes, could sense the suspicion that her voice did not betray, and knew that to push her much further would be taken as a challenge. If worse came to worse, he knew that he could handle himself in a one-on-one fight with the Slayer and at least have a strong, fighting chance of beating her.

Problem was, he knew better than to think that the fight would _stay_ one-on-one any for any longer than she was winning. At any point if she thought she was _really_ going to lose, she would call in her minions to help her. He was confident, but he was not so daft as to risk taking on an enraged Slayer _and_ a dozen or so of her vampire gangster types.

He had seen what had happened to the dozen or so hapless vampires over the past few months who had thought that they could take the new Slayer down. A lucky few had been dusted in the attempt. The others were _still_ suffering in the basement beneath the old mansion, where Faith held them captive, as punishment, as an example to others who might follow, but mostly for her own personal amusement.

He remembered that basement very well.

But during his own time spent as a prisoner there, he had developed a plan to make this Slayer pay for what she had done, to him – and to Dru. He had offered to go into her service, employing every skill of persuasion he had, using every convincing turn of phrase he could think of, to get Faith to accept his offer.

Then, he had managed to work his way into her inner circle, all the time subtlely planting suspicions in her mind about the others in the small group of vampires she had placed a small amount of trust in.

Before he knew it, they were dust – and he _was_ the inner circle.

Faith told him things about her plans that she didn’t tell anyone else, even going so far as to ask for his advice on some things, and she made sure that the others treated him with respect. They saw him as her second-in-command.

Still, she made it very clear to everyone that _no one_ was above punishment – not even Spike.

No, he would not “try his luck” today. He would wait for his chance – his “one good day” – and this was not it. The Slayer was in a foul mood, ready to fight and looking for an excuse to beat someone down.

“Maybe there’s a reason why she didn’t dust me,” he forced a light tone with a disarming shrug as he made a point of meeting her eyes. “A ‘higher purpose’, maybe?” He was joking, trying to lighten her mood, maybe even make her laugh, somehow distract her from the bloodlust he saw raging in her eyes, just looking for a victim.

Or maybe that was just _regular_ lust, he thought as she dropped her gaze to give him another slow, suggestive once-over before meeting his eyes again. “Maybe so,” she said with a predatory smile, as her hands somehow found their way to his hips. Her eyes glittering wickedly, she suddenly yanked him forward against her, and slightly off balance from the unexpected motion.

“I think I found it,” she smirked, gripping the back of his head and pulling him into a kiss so forceful that it would have bruised a mortal man. But Spike just returned it, equaling her intensity easily. His enhanced vampire senses revealed to him just how badly she wanted him right then.

He was very grateful that she did not have the same senses to reveal to her how very much he did _not_ want her.

From the very first time she had approached him like this, a week or so after he had started working for her, he had instinctively known that to deny this very unstable Slayer would be seen by her as rejection, an insult – and would probably result in serious physical harm, and at the very least, the loss of his relatively elevated status.

He felt nothing for her but sheer disgust, and hated kissing her, touching her – hated the feeling that really, he had no choice in the matter. After all, this Slayer took what she wanted – and what she couldn’t have, she destroyed to keep anyone else from having it. He did not want her, but he had learned how to make it appear that he did, how to make his body respond to her advances and deceive her into thinking he was anything but repulsed by her.

All he had to do was imagine the painful, bloody ways in which he could kill her.

She felt his arousal against her, and perceived it to be evidence of his desire for her. She gripped the lapels of his duster and slung him around so that his back was to the bed, then slammed him down onto it beneath her, not sparing her strength.

Faith liked to be on top.

As he went though the motions that would secure his position of influence for a little while longer, allowing him the nearness he needed to the Slayer to eventually destroy her, he closed his eyes and drifted into his memories, drawing out the image of his lost love.

 _Dru,_ he thought, his throat constricting with sorrow at her memory, seeing her clearly in his mind’s eye, her dark eyes accusing and full of tears. _I’m sorry, love. It’s all for you, I swear, love. I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll always love you._ He pleaded in his mind for her understanding – but she was only a memory to him now.

Because of Faith.

She had stolen his Dark Princess from him, reduced her to nothing but ashes and memory. If only they had never come back to Sunnydale at all! But Dru’s visions had told her of the Slayer’s disappearance, and that a great darkness was about to fall over the Hellmouth. For whatever reason had struck her fancy, she had insisted that they return to Sunnydale.

Whatever dark power inspired Drusilla’s visions, it failed to warn her about the new Slayer, and the fate that awaited her on the Hellmouth.

He would kill Faith one day. He had sworn it to himself, and to Dru – no matter what sacrifices he had to make in order to keep that promise.

A metallic snapping sound drew his attention out of his memories and back to the sickening present. He glanced up, only slightly surprised by the sight of the handcuffs that bound his wrists to the bedpost over his head. He had been so caught up in his memories that he had not even noticed what she was doing – until it was done. He lowered his eyes to meet her cruel smile.

Faith liked to play rough.

She leaned down over him with a deadly, seductive smile, and said softly, “Remember what I said about luck, Baby?”

He nodded slowly, his expression calm. “Which sort of a turn did mine just take, love?” He backed up his light tone of unconcern with a lascivious grin, boldly meeting her gaze without fear.

“You’ve been a very bad boy,” she said, lowering her voice, and it was not clear whether the threat in it was playful or genuine. “I’m gonna have to punish you,” she informed him as she unbuckled his belt and yanked it free with a single powerful pull.

The tone and demeanor did not match his memories, but the words reminded him again of Dru, and the games that they used to play. This sort of thing could be very enjoyable, he knew, when done with someone whom you trusted, who was your entire world. But this was nothing like that had been, not in the least.

Faith did not love him.

He hated her.

And neither of them really trusted the other at all.

If only, just once, she could summon the trust in him to reverse their roles in her little game, to allow him to be in control – it would be all he would need to reveal his true feelings about her, and wreak his vengeance upon her. Sometimes he pictured that scenario during these times with Faith, and it only helped make his performance that much more convincing.

But Faith did not trust anyone that much – certainly not him. One time, when she had gotten out the handcuffs, he had caught her by surprise and cuffed _her_ to the bed, thinking that this was his chance – Faith was going to pay. She had immediately called on her minions, who rushed in to restrain him and free her.

She had been furious, but he had managed to convince her that his intentions were absolutely the purest intentions that anyone could have when chaining someone else to a bed – that is, that he had not intended to hurt her – before she had been able to do him any serious damage.

Faith never stopped watching her back, never allowed herself to trust anyone. She even kept a stake on the nightstand beside her bed while they were sleeping together.

So he just waited. All he needed was one moment in which she let down her guard, turned her back…and he would take his chance and punish her. Still, he knew it would never be enough to make up for what she had taken from him…

The love of his life, his world…his everything.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a little after six o’clock when Buffy stepped off the bus at the Sunnydale station. Her heart was pounding and her stomach felt like a million butterflies had just set up residence there. No. Not butterflies. This was no normal case of stage fright variety butterflies. Birds, maybe? _Big_ birds? She could not remember the last time she had felt so terrified.

She glanced around apprehensively, not really sure why she expected to see some visible sign of the trouble Spike had hinted out. On the surface, everything looked the same as it ever had. Sunnydale’s citizens went about their business all around her as she made her way on trembling legs out of the station and started down the sidewalk toward her house.

No. Not her house. Not anymore. Her mother’s house.

 _Oh, God. Mom,_ she thought, choking back a sob. She missed her mother terribly and a part of her was desperate to see her. But another part of her was terrified, remembering her mother’s final words to her before she had left, wondering if her mother would even be happy to see her after all this time.

Now that she was actually here, it hardly even seemed real to her, she had been gone for so long. Everything she saw along the well-known way toward her old home was both familiar and foreign to her. She could hardly even imagine talking to her family, her friends, who had not been a part of her life for so long now. And yet her memories of happier times seemed at times to have happened only days ago, so vivid they were in her mind.

But the simple fact was, it was real, and she was really here in Sunnydale, and about to see them all again. She stopped on the sidewalk, staring with a sense of shock up the walkway to the house. She was here. And she could not seem to make her feet move up the path to the front door.

But Spike’s troubling, cryptic words to her echoed in her mind, and a new fear drove her up the path, nervous and wanting to prove to herself that everything was all right, that her family and friends were okay, and Spike had just been playing his ridiculous mind games with her, trying to freak her out and make her lose the fight so he could kill her.

Except that by that point, they hadn’t been fighting anymore…just talking.

And by that point, he could have killed her already if that had been what he wanted…but he hadn’t.

And how weird was that?

She shook her head, calling her thoughts back to the present as she forced her frozen feet to propel her the rest of the way to the front door. She stood there for a very long time, drawing deep but shaky breaths, trying to settle her nerves. A couple of times, she almost turned and walked away.

 _I can’t do this, I can’t do this,_ she told herself, fighting a sense of overwhelming panic as she made her finger descend on the doorbell and press it down before she could lose control and flee.

Her heart did a strange little flip-flop at the sound, and she imagined that she felt and heard its beat increase in speed. Oh, God, she was going to hyperventilate! She couldn’t do this, she had to leave, had to get…

The door opened, and her thoughts froze in place as she waited, breathless and terrified.

She was very surprised when not her mother but Xander answered the door – with a stake in his hand. For the millionth time in the last hour or so, she felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of her friend, standing in the doorway, staring at her as if he could hardly comprehend that she was really there.

He probably couldn’t, she realized with a pang of guilt. She had just taken off, not said a word to anyone, left the Hellmouth unguarded and her friends to face…what?

“Buffy,” he whispered, his voice sounding stunned, almost awed. His mouth hung open a little once the single word had passed his lips as he just stared at her for a moment. Wordlessly, he pulled her inside, his subconscious remembering that it would only be safe for her to be outside for another couple of minutes, while his conscious still struggled with the fact that she was actually, really there!

He closed the door behind them, locking it, and turned to face her again, still wide-eyed in shock. Then, a moment later, he threw his arms around her and pulled her to him in an almost desperate embrace, his arms hard around her, but trembling, and she felt something wet fall onto her face and realized that he was crying.

And then she realized that _she_ was crying as she opened her eyes and couldn’t see him through the blur of tears. “Xander,” she gasped. “Oh my God, Xander!”

“Buffy!” he cried. “I knew you’d come back!”

For a few long moments they just held each other and cried. There were so many questions each of them had for the other, so much hurt that needed to be expressed and forgiven – but in that moment, all of that was eclipsed by the tremendous relief of simply being together again.

When they slowly pulled apart, Buffy looked up at him through red, tear-filled eyes. “W-where’s my mom and Dawnie?” she asked softly, her voice trembling. She frowned a little, confused, then said with a nervous little half-laugh through her tears, realizing how rude her next question would sound, and also that he would not take it that way. “Why are you here?”

She had expected him to laugh with her, but in an instant the joy at her return was gone from his expressive dark eyes, and he looked down, not meeting her eye.

At that moment, she heard a soft sound from the stairs, and turned to see Willow, standing there, frozen at the sight of her. She didn’t move, didn’t speak for a moment, just stared at her in stunned disbelief.

“Will,” Buffy said, her voice coming out as a broken whimper, as she went to her friend and put her arms around her. She was so relieved to see her, so caught up in the emotion of the moment, that she didn’t even notice that her friend did not return her embrace. She just stood there, motionless, allowing Buffy to hug her, but making no move to respond.

After a moment Buffy noticed, and pulled back, guilt mingled with the hurt in her eyes. But Willow didn’t see it; she was staring at the floor. Why could neither of them meet her eyes? she wondered with a dark feeling of foreboding.

“I – I’m sorry, Willow,” she said softly. “I should have told you I was going…I shouldn’t have just taken off like that. I have so much to tell you, and so much happened that night, I just had to get away. But I should have told you…”

Suddenly Willow’s eyes snapped up to hers, and Buffy’s words cut off as the anger in Willow’s eyes took her breath. “You should have _been_ here!” Willow snapped, correcting Buffy’s assessment of her mistakes in the situation.

And suddenly, a cold feeling swept over Buffy as she remembered again Spike’s warning to her about what had been happening in Sunnydale while she was gone. She still didn’t know, not really, what he had been talking about. But judging by the expressions on the faces of her friends, by Willow’s unexpected fury, he must have been telling the truth.

And it must be even worse than he had said.

“W-where is everyone…else?” she asked suddenly, looking anxiously between her two friends. “Why are you two here, and no one else? Where’s my mom, and Dawn? And…” Her voice trailed off, as she noticed for the first time the pain and heartache that filled both of their eyes.

Xander had still been looking at her, his expression heartsick at Willow’s harsh words, the expression of her pain, understanding the reasons for it but knowing how it must have hurt Buffy, and wanting to see how she was taking it. Now, however, when she began to ask about what had happened, his eyes fell as well.

“God, why won’t either of you _look_ at me?” Buffy demanded, not realizing she was raising her voice in her fear, some part of her already understanding that what they were not telling her must be more terrible than she could imagine. “What’s happened?”

“What _hasn’t_ happened, Buffy?” Xander said quietly, sadly, still not looking at her. “There’s – there’s just so much…and…it’s bad, Buffy. Really, really bad.”

“Then tell me,” she insisted slowly, emphatically, her voice trembling with unshed tears and anger. “Tell me what’s going on, so I can do something about it!”

“You can’t do anything about it!” Willow snapped, angry tears streaking her own face. “It’s _done_ , Buffy! The time when you could have done something about it is past, okay? But you weren’t here during that time. And now it’s done, and there’s no going back…so why did you even bother coming here?”

Willow’s words hurt her more than she could express, and only served to feed the steadily rising fear in her. “You have no idea what happened to me that night, Will!” she shot back angrily. “I couldn’t stay! I couldn’t! You know, I might be the Slayer, but I’m human, Willow! And anybody would have taken off after…after what…” She stopped, trying to control the sobs that rose in her at the memories that she had forced back for so long, brought back to the surface by the very emotional confrontation.

“Okay,” Xander said quietly, stepping forward and between the two girls, realizing that he was going to have to be the one to take control of the rapidly deteriorating situation. “Okay, guys. This is hard. A lot of stuff has happened…to you, too, Buffy, I know…” he added, looking at her as he spoke, and then back to Willow pointedly. “But we all just need to calm down.” He looked back to Buffy. “There’s a lot you need to know about Buffy. A lot of bad things…”

He swallowed hard, fighting with his own emotions, struggling to keep them under control, because Buffy and Willow were at each other’s throats, and Buffy still had no idea about all that they had lost, all that _she_ had lost, and if _he_ lost control right now, too….

Willow slowly looked down again, beginning to gain control and realize her mistake. The anger was still very much there, but she was trying to hold it back, understanding that there was a very important, very painful conversation that still needed to be had.

Xander looked at her, until she looked up at him, carefully avoiding looking at Buffy. “I’m going to fill Buffy in on what’s happened while she was gone,” he said slowly, firmly, his tone much more authoritative than Buffy remembered it, leaving no room for argument. “You go upstairs and talk to Dawnie. Tell her…tell her Buffy’s home.”

“I want to tell her,” Buffy protested, heading for the stairs.

“No!” Willow snapped, anger and accusation again clear in her eyes. “Do you have any idea what it did to her when you left? What’s happened to her _because_ you left?” she demanded tearfully.

“Will,” Xander warned her, quietly but urgently, and she stopped.

She was obviously struggling with her own anger as she looked away from Buffy again. When she spoke again, her voice was low and controlled. “This is going to be a big shock for her, Buffy. I’m going to tell her…break the news to her easy. Then if she wants to see you…”

“If she wants to see me?” Buffy repeated incredulously, stepping forward again. “She’s my sister, Willow, and if you think…”

“ _Stop!_ ” Xander suddenly raised his voice, and both girls froze, not looking at him but waiting in silence for him to go on. “Willow’s right,” he finally said, giving Buffy a look that was only slightly apologetic. “If you just go up there, Dawnie’s probably gonna freak out. Let Willow let her know you’re here first. Then you can see her. There’s some things I need to tell you first.”

As he spoke he reached out a gentle hand and caught her arm, and though they both knew that she could have broken his grip in an instant, could have shoved Willow out of the way and insisted on going up the stairs to see her sister like she wanted to…she didn’t. She forced herself to relax the tensed, confrontational stance her body had taken on, and allowed him to lead her into the living room to the sofa while Willow went on upstairs.

“Why does _Willow_ have to tell her?” Buffy asked, and the look on her face, the frightened tears in her eyes, told Xander that she was not being spiteful. “Where’s my _mom_ , Xander?”

He forced himself to look her in the eyes, as he slowly began to explain the sequence of events after she had left, avoiding her question at first. He told her about Faith, and how everything had been great to begin with, until she had started building her vampire gangs, terrorizing innocent people, taking whatever she wanted from whoever she wanted and allowing the vampires to run rampant through Sunnydale and do whatever they wanted.

“What about the police? The authorities?” Buffy asked, frowning with concern, hardly able to believe what he was telling her.

“What can the police do, Buffy?” he said, a hopeless note in his voice. “Most of them were the first to go – one way or the other,” he went on, darkly. “The ones who _did_ try to stand up to her got killed. The others took their families and got out of town as fast as they could. A lot of people did.”

“So…is there like any city government or authority in Sunnydale at all right now?” she asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

“No,” Xander replied sadly. “Right at the start, the mayor stood up against her and was telling everyone how she was dangerous and evil and the biggest threat to family values since ‘Ellen’.” He paused. “But one of her gangs took him down. He’s dead. Along with anybody else who stood up to her.”

“No one can even leave their homes after dark anymore without getting attacked. The vampires are totally in control. They do what they want. Kill who they want.” He paused for a moment, looking down at the couch, and when he looked up his eyes were full of tears. “They killed Cordy.”

“Oh, no!” she gasped, her eyes widening in horrified sympathy for her friend, and she reached out to pull him into her arms. “Oh, Xander, I’m so sorry!” Her own eyes welled with tears. She and Cordelia had never really been on the best of terms, but she knew that she had meant a lot to Xander, and the thought of her actually being killed by vampires was still a painful one – she _knew_ her!

Xander allowed her comforting gesture for a moment before pulling away, and she knew he had more to tell her. A lot more.

“Oz and I – we weren’t gonna let them get away with it,” he began slowly. “It was the full moon, and we went down to her headquarters at sunset to take them all down.”

Buffy’s eyes grew wider at the thought of calm, sensible Oz deliberately choosing to unleash his wolf-self on Faith and her minions.

“We did a lot of damage,” Xander went on, with a soft ironic laugh, staring down at the couch between them. “We killed all of her vamp lackeys that were there. Except one.” His eyes narrowed in hatred as he looked up at her. “Spike.”

“Spike? Spike’s working with Faith?” she said, stunned. In a way she was not surprised, but in another way it just didn’t make sense. Why would he come to LA and tell her about what was happening here in Sunnydale if he was working for Faith? Unless he was just incredibly stupid and was just trying to rile her in the midst of their confrontation, not thinking about the consequences.

Yeah, that pretty much sounded like Spike.

Xander’s next words pulled her out of her wondering thoughts. “He killed Oz.”

“What?” The word came out in a shocked whisper. “Oz – Oz is dead?” She turned her head and gazed up the stairs, her eyes stricken with sudden understanding. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Spike killed Oz. And I was gone…and if I’d been here…” She stopped, shaking her head. Suddenly she looked back up at him with a horrified, almost panicked expression. “And Cordy! Oh my God, Xander, I’m so sorry!”

“No,” he said softly, not meeting her eyes, and she could tell that although he was trying to comfort her, he had been thinking the same thing. “It’s not your fault, Buffy,” he said, but the words sounded weak. “You couldn’t have known what would happen. And…” he added hurriedly before she could protest, knowing that he had to get the rest out while he still could. “And there’s more.”

She swallowed hard, sensing that this would be the hardest blow yet, and bravely forced herself to meet his eyes. “What is it?” she prompted when he didn’t speak. “Xander, _tell me_.”

“After – after we went down there – and killed all her guys,” he began, his voice trembling and hesitant. “They – they wanted to retaliate. They – they…” He stopped. He simply couldn’t do this. He couldn’t find the strength to speak the words and tell her what had happened.

But she was beginning to understand. “Xander,” she said, her voice trembling and her wide eyes focused on his. Her words were slow and even as she went on, “Where is my mother?”

Xander flinched, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, fighting for control. “Buffy,” he began softly, trying to find the words. But his tone said all she could bear to hear.

She stood up suddenly, still staring at him and shaking her head slowly in denial as she took a couple of backward steps away from him. “No,” she whispered in a trembling voice full of fury and pain. “No…tell me that she’s…tell me she’s not…”

Xander did not say a word. He couldn’t. Tears streaked his face as he stared at the couch, swallowing back a sob.

“No,” she repeated, refusing to accept it. “No, no it’s not true…” her voice rising with every word. “No, you’re lying, she’s alive, no I won’t believe that, _no_!” The last word was a scream of anguish as she stepped forward aggressively, demanding with her body if not her words that he take it back, that he tell her he was lying, tell her anything, but just tell her that her mother was alive.

He flinched instinctively at her aggressive advance, only to have her collapse to her knees on the floor in the next moment, sobbing brokenly as she wrapped her arms around herself, as if physically trying to hold herself together, to keep from falling to pieces.

He left the couch and knelt beside her, tentatively reaching to put his arms around her. “I’m so sorry, Buffy,” he began, sobbing with her. “I’m so sorry…”

She sobbed in his arms for a few minutes, shaking and rocking slightly, moaning softly in pain and disbelief. “No! Mom! Oh, mom! Mommy! No, no, no!” she sobbed until her voice broke and she dissolved into deep, shuddering sobs.

He just stayed there with her, holding her for a few minutes. Suddenly, she broke out of his embrace, staggering to her feet. He looked up at her, alarmed, because she still seemed terribly shaken and unstable.

“Buffy,” he began cautiously, slowly standing up himself, as he took in the sudden change in her demeanor. Her face had transformed. It was still tear-soaked, and her lips were trembling, but her eyes had hardened with fury and blind rage. He recognized that look in her eyes, and he knew what it could lead to.

“Are there any weapons here?” she asked him, her voice low and full of fury.

“Buffy, you shouldn’t…”

“Where are the weapons, Xander?” she demanded, in a tone that did not allow for argument.

Wordlessly he pointed to the chest against the wall by the stairs, and watched as she threw it open, and began to quickly arm herself with several large stakes, and a wicked-looking curved dagger.

She turned back to him, meeting his eyes with her own blazing with fury and determination. “Who did it?” she asked him flatly. “Who killed my mother?”

He looked down at the floor for a moment, wishing for some way to dissuade her from what could very well be a suicide mission. But he thought back over all the times he had seen Buffy fight before, and remembered that she could hold her own. Why had they so longed for her return, if she was not capable of taking on Faith and her followers? And now, with her awesome power further fueled by the rage of her grief…

He looked up at her, a new fire in his own eyes. “Spike,” he replied simply. “She was – she was here. And it was a vamp. No other vampire could have gotten into the house.”

Her eyes widened for a moment in surprise. She knew that Spike was a vampire, evil, soulless, without conscience or remorse. But somehow, after their truce the previous year, after inviting him into her home, after he had sat there and talked with her mother while she was on the phone, she had never expected him to harm her family.

No wonder he had made that comment about her family, she realized with new fury coursing through her body. He had come into her home, mercilessly killed her precious mother, who had never hurt anyone, the most important person in her life…and then had the nerve, the cruelty, the utter inhumanity to actually find her just to gloat about it and throw it in her face.

She determined in that moment, with a firm, unyielding resolve: she would make him suffer for the devastation he had wrought in her life, for taking the life of her mother.

Without another word, she turned and stormed out into the dark, forbidding night. Her friend had warned her of the evil that controlled the night in Sunnydale these days, but she was not afraid. The evil things that lurked there, tonight of all nights, should tremble in terror of _her!_

The Slayer had returned to Sunnydale…with a vengeance.


	5. Chapter 5

Buffy roughly brushed the tears away from her eyes as she stormed down the walkway and onto the sidewalk. She had to be strong right now; she had to take down the evil creature that had taken her mother’s life. Still in a state of shock, a red haze of fury filling her mind, all she could think about at that moment was revenge.

Her mind tried to process the fact that her mother was really gone, that she would never see her, talk to her, touch her, ever again. It was just too painful to conceive of, too devastating. She shoved the cruel thoughts out before they could take root in her mind. She just couldn’t think about that right now; it simply hurt too bad.

So instead, she focused on avenging her mother’s death. It was as if she had put a wall up in her mind, closing out the pain and focusing on the anger and hatred. She didn’t have time to think about it now; she had to punish her mother’s killer. The part of her that was the heart-broken, devastated girl shut down, and allowed the hardened, vicious Slayer to take control.

She was halfway down the sidewalk when she realized that she really didn’t even know where Faith’s headquarters was located. Xander had said something about an old mansion on the western outskirts of town, but that was all the information she had, and she did not intend on going to back to the house before she had done some serious slayage.

It didn’t matter, she realized. According to Xander’s story, Spike often led one of Faith’s gangs in their nightly activities on the streets of Sunnydale. Finding the mansion would not necessarily lead her to her prey; she would be more likely to find him by doing exactly what she was doing – walking the street, looking like a helpless victim.

“Hey, there, Baby,” she heard a taunting male voice behind her, helping to support her theory.

She slowly turned to face the owner of the voice. She already knew by his voice that it wasn’t the vampire she sought, and a look at the group of about a dozen that now stood behind her revealed that he was not among them…but that didn’t really matter to her all that much at the moment. She was after Spike, but she had more than enough rage to spare for any other vamps that got in her way.

She could use a warm-up.

“Whatcha doin’ out here all by yourself, Baby?” the vampire continued, approaching her with a menacing leer. He obviously had no idea who he was dealing with. He thought she was just a foolish girl who happened to have been caught out alone.

Her eyes were cold, but she put a flirtatious smile on her face as she sauntered boldly a few steps closer to the vampires. “Looking for some action,” she replied suggestively, drawing even nearer to the one who had addressed her.

Much like a hormone-addled teenage boy, he glanced around at his friends with a knowing grin, before turning to face the girl again. His eyes never even came to rest on her again; before he could even turn the rest of the way around, the Slayer had taken one of her stakes from her pocket and plunged it into his heart.

As his ashes settled around her, she turned toward the others with a smile. “Now that was exhilarating. Who’s next?”

The others seemed stunned for a moment, surprised that she had dispatched their leader so easily. But after a moment they seemed to recover, assuming that she had just managed to get lucky with her flirtations that had allowed her near enough for the killing blow. The thought that this might be the missing Slayer never occurred to them. She was just a girl, and what could one girl do against a dozen vampires?

She quickly showed them just what _this_ one girl could do, and within minutes the lot of them were dust.

She continued on her way down the sidewalk, keeping her eyes open for any sign of her prey. When she reached Main Street, in downtown Sunnydale, she saw another group of vampires a few hundred feet from her. They were armed with baseball bats and clubs and were smashing in the windows of a convenience store.

Among them she could clearly make out a distinct platinum blonde head.

Fury in her eyes, her gait, every facet of her being, she strode purposefully toward them. They did not notice her as she caught up to them, catching a couple of them who were still outside the store and staking them within seconds before storming inside.

Inside the store, the vampires were behaving like a bunch of juvenile delinquents, taking a few things like liquor and cigarettes, but mostly just smashing things and creating general destruction. She wasted no time, grabbing the nearest vamp by the back of his shirt and plunging her stake into his heart, then moving forward toward the next nearest one to her.

As soon as they realized what was happening, the rest of them surrounded her, thinking, like the last group, that they had found an easy meal. She didn’t say a word as she simply set to work, wiping them out with deadly efficiency.

The entire time, she watched Spike out of the corner of her eye, surprised that he did not join the fray. He simply stood there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, watching in an almost bored fashion as she took out his group, one after another.

Soon, she was down to two vampires who seemed a little larger and a little more skilled than the others, and they were working together, doing their best to corner her. She fought well, but the truth was that she was still out of shape, and had been working on sheer rage thus far. But her rage could only carry her to the limits of her physical strength, and Buffy was beginning to tire.

Finally, she saw an opening and lunged toward the larger of the two, her aim deadly in its accuracy. But before the dust had even settled, the other one had grabbed her from behind, gripping her right wrist in his hand and wrenching it backward, hard.

She let out a little cry of pain as the stake fell from her hand, struggling to free herself, but he was much stronger than she was at the moment. The vampire threw her to the ground, hard, and before she could recover, turned her over, gripping her wrists and pinning them over her head as his fangs descended toward her throat. She thrashed and struggled against him, but could not seem to break his hold.

She was cursing herself for her weakness, for allowing herself to get so out of shape and out of practice, certain that this was it, and wondering if the next Slayer would be able to take out Faith and save this town or not…when suddenly the weight of the vampire on top of her vanished, and she nearly choked on the disgusting dust cloud that settled over her.

Coughing and wiping her eyes as she pushed herself up on her arms, and stumbled to her feet hastily, not sure what threat she might face next, she was amazed to see Spike, standing there watching patiently as she recovered, his arms still crossed and her fallen stake in one hand.

“That, Slayer, was bloody pathetic,” he informed her matter-of-factly.

“Yeah?” she said, with a cold smile, taking her other stake from her back pocket. Suddenly, she was feeling her strength return as her fury built again at the sight of her mother’s murderer standing before her, so smug and derisive. “Let’s see if I can make up for that.”

His eyes widened in surprise, and he dropped the stake in preparation to fight her…too late. He had not thought that she would go after him, not after he had spared her the last time and saved her only moments ago. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized that he had honestly not expected her to attack him, and the thought shocked her.

But not enough to distract her from her purpose.

She unleashed her fury upon him, not giving him time to recover in between as she rained blow after powerful blow upon him, until she had him backed up against the counter. She gripped his throat with one hand and slammed him back against the counter so that he was bent backward over it, raising the stake in her other hand to strike.

He really had not expected the Slayer to try to kill him. Not after the last time when he had easily bested her, and then on top of that, allowed her to live.

In truth, he had not expected her to be *able* to kill him.

But this girl was obviously not the same broken, indifferent person he had seen in LA only a few days ago. She fought with a fire and fury that was far beyond what he had seen in her even at her best, when he had fought her before.

But what was most chilling was the cold hatred in her eyes. He knew that this time, she was out for blood, and would not stop until one of them was dead – and truth be told, either way that little scenario could play out would not be to his liking.

He just barely managed to catch her right wrist in his hand before her stake pierced his chest, holding her back with all his strength, which he could feel faltering due to the incredible power of her attack, and the utter lack of leverage his position left to him.

“I thought you owed me one, Slayer,” he choked out, struggling for all he was worth to push her off of him with his free hand. But her rage-fueled strength at the moment was simply too much for him. “I gave you a free pass,” he reminded her.

Her eyes widened in incredulous disbelief, as she snarled in a disgusted, furious voice, “All I owe you is pain, Spike.”

“Not the way I see it,” he ground out, gritting his teeth as he felt his grip slip a little and the stake come another perilous inch nearer to his unbeating heart. “I could have killed you in LA, Slayer. I didn’t. *And* I just killed that bloke that was about to make you his bloody dinner…could lose my soddin’ job for that, pet. I’d say that means you owe me a little more than the business end of your stake.”

His calmness, in the face of his impending death, in the face of what he had _done_ , only infuriated her further. “You know what?” she said with a wide, false smile, raising her stake hand away from his heart, pulling it out of his grip, but not releasing her relentless, pinning hold on his throat. “I think you’re right. I think I owe you more than just the point of my stake.”

And with that, she turned the stake around and smashed it down hard across his face before leaning in close again to add, “I think I owe you a lot more than a quick, easy death, Spike.”

As the stars faded from his vision and he tried to focus on her, his eyes widened in disbelief, absolutely stunned by the intensity, the brutality of her attack. They were mortal enemies, right – he could understand that. But the fury, the malice she was displaying seemed to go deeper than that. She seemed to have some personal affront against him, and he did not know why.

Struggling again uselessly to rise, as she pressed the stake to his chest again, the point digging into his flesh just above his heart, hard enough to draw blood, but still a good several inches from his heart, he gasped out, “Just what is it you think I’ve done, Slayer?”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” she snapped, and he winced as the stake dug in a little deeper. “You killed my mother, you bastard!”

He was absolutely stunned by her words, and suddenly he understood why her attack held so much more power than it usually did – than it ever had, really. Somehow she had gotten it into her head that he was the one who had killed her mum, and that had fueled her strength to an unbelievable degree.

Suddenly, he was also absolutely certain that he was not going to make it out of this alive if he could not convince her that he was not the one at which her vengeance should be directed.

“No,” he protested quickly. “No, Slayer, you’re wrong! I never touched you mum, I swear it!”

“Liar!” she hissed, dragging the point of the stake downward a bit from his heart, tearing through his flesh with the weapon.

He bit back a cry of pain as he gasped, “No! I’m telling you the truth, I know someone killed your mum, but I swear it wasn’t me!” He raised his head and met her eyes, desperately hoping that she would see that he was telling her the truth.

She glared down at him. The sincerity in his eyes made her falter for a moment. “You’re the only one who could get into my house, Spike,” she insisted in a voice trembling with anger and confusion. “It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

That came as another surprise to him. “Maybe they tricked her. Maybe she invited them in herself, pet. I don’t know,” he spoke quickly, just guessing at possible scenarios, seeing his chance and seizing it. “All I know is I didn’t bloody do it.” He felt her ease the pressure of the stake in his chest, and knew he was getting through to her. He cautiously raised his head to look her in the eye more directly. “I wouldn’t have done that,” he insisted. “I liked your mum. She was a good lady. And I swear I didn’t know a thing about it until it was done.”

She looked down for a moment, unsure, her eyes welling with tears, her lips trembling. Suddenly, those green eyes hardened and focused on him again as a new thought occurred to her, and she pointed out in a voice of steel, “But you do now. If you didn’t kill her, you know who did.”

It was a statement, not a question, and he did not deny it.

“Tell me,” she ordered coldly, and once again he felt the wooden stake digging into his injured chest.

She never knew if he had intended to answer her, because suddenly she felt a hard hand around her throat yanking her up off of him, spinning her around and slamming her back against the counter. Immediately she sprung back to face her attacker, a large vamp with a long, wicked-looking knife in his hand. Glancing around, she saw that there were about a dozen more with him.

There was nothing for it. She had to fight them, and she fought hard, taking them out in a matter of minutes. But when she turned back toward the counter, and glanced around the store, there was no sign of the vampire whose interrogation and death they had so inconveniently interrupted.

Spike was gone.


End file.
